Damned Thing
by doctorkaitlyn
Summary: Five times Daryl tries to get rid of Glenn's hat and one time he finally succeeds.  Rated for language and mild smut.


**Author's Note:** Welcome, dear readers, to the first WD '5 things' fic. I am a huge fan of this format but I was really nervous about applying it to this fandom. Although this follows the general story of season one, there have been some changes in the amount of time between things and in the layout of the CDC. The flow of this is really weird and kind of stilted but hopefully, you enjoy the following story, which is a mixture of fluff, mild angst, smut and just plain ridiculousness. It is also the longest oneshot I've written for this fandom, so enjoy!

**Dedications:** All the wonderful reviewers and readers who have commented on my previous WD fics. A special mention to **The Reader's Muse**, who has worn off on me regarding how long my stories are getting. She's a wonderful person, she really is. :)

**Damned Thing.**

**1.**

Daryl wasn't entirely sure when he had started to hate Glenn's baseball hat. It might have been the first time he had seen the younger man without it on. It had only been a few seconds, just the amount of time it took Glenn to wipe some sweat off of his forehead before he continued setting up his tent. It might have been after Daryl had come back from hunting and found out that his brother had been left chained to a roof like some goddamn zoo animal. In his peripheral vision, he'd seen the kid hiding his eyes underneath the brim, looking so painfully guilty that Daryl wanted to stomp over to him, rip the damned thing off and force him to look into his eyes, force him to be on the spot.

But it hadn't been the kid's fault, so he'd resisted, barely.

However, it might have even been after they'd returned from Atlanta, exhausted from the long trek back, only to run straight into a fucking Walker attack. Glenn had immediately dived into the fray, swinging that baseball bat of his left and right, splattering gore over everybody within reach. It was in a split-second break between shooting Walkers through the skull that Daryl had realized that Glenn looked _way_ too much like a kid in the damn hat. He looked far too young to be covered in flecks of blood and skull, sweat dripping from his face.

When he had time to properly think about it later, Daryl realized that, although he wasn't exactly sure _when_ he had started hating the stupid baseball hat, that night had sealed its fate. Quite simply, it had to go.

The only problem was that Daryl had absolutely no idea how that would happen. The kid was weirdly attached to the damn thing. Every morning, it was jammed on his head before he crawled out of his tent and when he went back in at the end of the night, it was still on. Daryl supposed that it might have been a comfort object of sorts, something to remind him of the time before but nonetheless, it wouldn't stop bugging him. The more it bugged him, the more pissed off he got that something so completely useless _was _bothering him. It was a massive, vicious cycle and the only way he could end it was to somehow convince the kid to get rid of the goddamn thing.

They were sitting around the fire the night after the Walker attack on camp, all of them dirty and sweaty and sore from burying bodies all day. Most of the ones who were still alive had retired to bed for the night, although Daryl highly doubted that they were sleeping. If he listened carefully, he thought that he could hear Carol talking to Sophia in their tent. When he looked across the coals at Glenn, he couldn't help but smirk. The kid looked absolutely worn down but at the same time, he looked like a Little League player who'd lost the big game.

"Hey, sport," he said, flicking a twig at Glenn to catch his attention, "you know there's always next year, right?" It took Glenn a few rather awkward seconds to catch what Daryl was saying and he responded with a pained groan, rubbing his forehead.

"Really, Daryl, not the time," he muttered. A few moments later, he went to bed as well, leaving only Daryl and Rick Grimes around the fire. He didn't particularly feel the need to talk to the former deputy so he instead stared into the fire, brooding on the matter.

Insulting the kid apparently hadn't done the trick. He'd have to try something else.

**2.**

Daryl always took the watch that led up to dawn. He thought there was something so... peaceful, for lack of a better word, about the world before the new day split. Sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he could pretend that the apocalypse hadn't happened. He could go back to the ol' days, when his Pa would wake him up at three o'clock in the morning and bring him out into the forest to go hunting. In the absolute silence, the world could be whatever he wanted it to be.

Of course, as soon as the sun came up, everyone started to wake and the illusion was ruined. Glenn was always one of the first ones awake, stumbling out of his tent with all the grace of a baby deer, hat jammed on his head before he even got the zipper undone. The morning after Daryl's first attempt, once Glenn had practically fallen out onto the ground, he came over to join Daryl, sitting on a stump on the edge of the tree line. Although Daryl could hear some of the others stirring in their tents, Glenn was the first one to actually get out and, if he was being honest with himself, he didn't mind the kid's company. He was quiet, didn't feel the need to fill in the gap with incessant chatter. Like Daryl, he seemed to be content just listening to the quiet birdsong, waiting for the tell tale rustle of something else moving.

"Sorry 'bout snapping at you last night," Glenn eventually muttered, staring off into the trees. Daryl shrugged, spitting into the grass by his feet.

"Ain't nothing to be sorry 'bout. Shouldn't have said you looked like a Little League player." Glenn merely snorted in reply, scratching the back of his neck. After a few more moments of rather comfortable silence, broken only by someone climbing out of the RV, Daryl couldn't help but glance sideways at the younger man. He was smiling slightly but it was impossible to see his eyes underneath the brim of his hat.

"You've got Walker brains on your hat." It wasn't a lie; he hadn't been able to see last night but the hat was splattered with splotches of gray that had probably been brains at some point in time. Glenn reached up and took off the hat, holding it carefully by the edge of the brim, turning it in his nimble fingers. For a few seconds, Daryl felt himself relax, sure that this was it, that Glenn wouldn't want to wear something so obviously tainted. In those precious few seconds, he let his mind turn to other things, like how sharp the kid's cheekbones were against his skin.

Well, that was certainly a strange thought. It was quickly erased when Glenn jammed the damned thing back on his head and stood up, wiping off his jeans.

"I'll go wash it off before breakfast," he said, "so it'll be dry before lunch. Do you want to come with me?" Daryl shook his head, not bothering to provide a word of explanation. Glenn merely shrugged and continued on his way, greeting Dale as the old man stepped out of the RV. Once he was gone, Daryl's thoughts inadvertently turned back to Glenn's cheekbones. He knew that he should have been panicking, should have been pushing those thoughts far, far away (Lord knew he'd gotten good at that over the years) but really, the fact was that he had far more important things to worry about than the fact that he admired Glenn's facial structure; like, for example, getting rid of the hat so that he could admire said features.

A quick growl of his stomach reminded him, however, that food was the number one priority. They had almost completely run out of canned food and the last batch of squirrels that he had caught were long consumed. Sighing, he waited until Shane was awake before he set off into the forest, bow raised, looking for more squirrel or even a rabbit.

The hat would have to wait.

**3.**

The mood at camp that night was, quite frankly, fucking depressing. Daryl had only been able to catch a few squirrels and, even with their depleted ranks, they'd still been left with aching stomachs that voiced their displeasure loud and clear. To make things worse, there was no denying the fact that Jim had the fever and Andrea was practically catatonic. The decision to go to the CDC had already been made and now all there was to do was to sit around the fire and wait, letting the hours tick by painfully slow until the sun came up.

Glenn had, indeed, washed his hat. The only reason Daryl could see this was that, for some strange reason, the kid had chosen to sit beside him, their shoulders touching together. Daryl half expected someone to make a comment but no one was saying _anything_; they were all just staring into the fire, collectively wincing when one of Jim's particularly loud groans would punctuate the air around them. Slowly, one by one, the others wandered off to bed, slipping away without a sound until it was only Daryl and Glenn and the coals. With the additional room, Daryl figured that the kid would sprawl out, letting his colt-like limbs fall where they pleased. If anything, however, he got even closer to Daryl, wriggling over until their legs were practically entwined. The additional warmth from Glenn's body was quite nice and Daryl merely let him continue to move, playing the situation entirely by ear.

When the kid finally moved and kissed him in one motion, Daryl wanted to roll his eyes and mutter _finally._ He didn't even care that they were literally in the middle of camp, visible to anyone who happened to look outside or get up for a piss. It was just one of those things that didn't seem that important in the grand scheme of the world.

But that hat. Daryl knew that his priorities were severely messed up but part of his mind, the part that wasn't focused on Glenn's mouth, realized that he could easily 'accidentally' toss Glenn's hat into the fire. The kid was distracted, after all and from the content noises he was making in the back of his throat, Daryl didn't think that he would even notice if he'd torn the thing off and threw it.

The kid may have been distracted but he was fucking _quick._ Daryl's fingers had barely reached the edge of the hat before Glenn had pushed them away, redirecting them to his neck. Without breaking the kiss, he pulled off the hat and placed it on the ground beside him, treating it as tenderly as a newborn child or something along those lines.

For a second, Daryl considered doing it anyways but then Glenn was pulling on the front of his shirt, yanking him on top of him. Daryl took one last glance at the object that was now enemy number two (underneath the Walkers, of course) and just let himself fall into the wonderful whirlwind that was Glenn's lips on his neck and his long fingers running over his skin.

There were _definitely_ more important things than the hat at that moment in time; including friction. _That_ was important.

**4.**

They were drunk. Jim was dead, left along the side of the road, they'd narrowly avoided having their asses made into Walker food and instead of mourning and crying about the goddamn mess, they were all drunk off of dusty wine and good ol' Johnnie Walker. As blasphemous as it was, Daryl couldn't help but thank the dead scientists for leaving their alcohol behind. It had been far too long since he had felt the warmth of whisky flooding through his entire body. He was quite aware of the fact that it was far too dangerous for them to be letting their guards down so easily but at the CDC, for once, they were _safe._ They didn't have to worry about jumping at every rustle of a bush, at every twig that snapped. They could simply be people. They could be drunk.

To be honest, the conduct of the others was downright amusing to Daryl. In one night, he had heard more words from all of them than in over a month; the old man was getting downright sassy, trying to get Lori to have another glass of wine. Shane was sitting off by himself, staring off into nothingness and generally being a buzzkill, although that wasn't unusual. Carl was sandwiched between his parents, squishing his face up at the one sip of wine he'd been allowed.

_And _then there was Glenn.

Daryl wasn't exactly sure when Glenn had collapsed beside him on the floor, inebriated by just a few sips of whisky. Boy was a lightweight, although that wasn't surprising; Daryl wasn't even sure if Glenn was legal. Not there was such thing as legal anymore, he quickly reminded himself, taking another sip from the bottle he had claimed as his own. He was just lowering it again when it was suddenly removed from his hand, snatched away by Glenn's still extremely fast hands. He took a quick gulp and the look on his face was so fucking priceless that it made Daryl fall flat onto his back, laughing loudly enough to make the others glance over in both shock and amusement.

"Jesus kid, you'd think that you'd never been drunk before," he gasped. He could hear Merle's voice in the back of his mind, telling him to smarten the fuck up and stop acting like a teenager but honestly, for the first time in years, Daryl didn't give a fuck what Merle (or Merle's voice, for that matter) thought about him. His head was clear, empty of any of the dark thoughts that generally plagued his mind. Glenn was still grimacing but he still took another sip, his cheeks turning even redder.

That was when it hit Daryl, making him sit up with wide eyes. The hat. He could steal it so easily and run; he had absolutely no doubt that he could run faster then Glenn at the best of times, let alone when the younger man was off his ass on alcohol. All he had to do was pluck it off Glenn's hat and book it, stashing it somewhere in the CDC where the kid wouldn't be able to find it. It was the _perfect _plan.

So he executed it. He waited until the bottle touched Glenn's lips again before he snatched the hat clean off his head and took off, followed both by the hoots from the others and Glenn's protests as he clambered up as fast as he could, looking rather like an octopus. Daryl had enough of a head start that he headed to the room he had claimed as his own, shutting and locking the door behind him. By the time he had hidden the hat, sliding it in a drawer underneath the former occupant's abandoned shirts, Glenn was pounding on the door, demanding that Daryl let him in. Daryl tried to compose himself but he couldn't stop a grin from settling on his lips when he finally opened the door, facing the rather agitated looking Korean.

"Yes Glenn?"

"Give it back."

"Give what back?" Daryl stepped away from the door, shutting it when Glenn stepped inside. The younger man's eyes darted madly around the room, examining every piece of furniture. Daryl knew that, if the kid started searching, he wouldn't stop. He had to keep him distracted and pinning him to the door seemed like it would work.

"Please?" Daryl merely shook his head, letting his mouth wander over Glenn's neck. The kid had nice skin. It was soft, smooth against his lips. He couldn't help but bite down, leaving a mark that would definitely need some explaining in the morning.

"Please?" Another shake of the head, followed by wandering hands, skating over warm, hidden skin.

"_Daryl, please."_

Daryl didn't think the kid was talking about the hat anymore. And he was perfectly fine with that.

**5.**

Daryl had forgotten about the morning after. He'd never been one to really get hangovers but, maybe because it had been so long since he'd last drank, when he awoke, his head was splitting. Groaning, he forced himself to sit up, intent on getting a shower in before he went out for breakfast.

(He'd really been planning on taking one the night before but it was amazing how hard it was to get out of bed after sex.)

When he glanced over at the small couch that sat on the other side of the room, he felt his head throb even more because despite the fact he had hidden the goddamn thing, Glenn had found his hat and jammed it on his still damp hair.

"Morning," he said, noticing that Daryl was awake. His voice was far too chipper and that hat was far too egregious for him to tolerate so, with only a nod, he slipped into the attached bathroom, not caring that he wasn't wearing clothes. To his momentary annoyance, Glenn followed him, leaning against the counter while Daryl turned the water as hot as he could tolerate.

"Mind if I join you?" Daryl glanced over at the kid, who had definitely already used the shower; he could still see water droplets clinging to his neck.

"Didn't you already have a shower?" he muttered, testing the temperature of the water with his hand.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't mind another." It took Daryl a second to realize just how loaded that statement was and, sure enough, when he turned to look at Glenn, the kid had already stripped off his shirt and set the hat on top of the counter.

Funny. His headache seemed to have lessened.

Before he let his mind shut off for another half hour, Daryl couldn't help but make one last comment, even if it was muttered into Glenn's neck.

"Don't know why you wear that thing. Look older without it."

"Is that a good thing?" Daryl hadn't been intending the kid to hear his statement but he rolled with it, smirking as he pulled away for a deep breath.

"_Very._"

When he finally climbed out of the shower, skin practically raw (but clean), he thought for a brief second that the kid was going to bypass the hat, that he had finally managed to break the cycle. However, after a moment of hesitation, Glenn picked it up and left the room, leaving Daryl to merely groan. He was completely out of ideas; he had insulted the kid, tried to persuade him, fuck, he'd even _asked _but all for naught. It all had been entirely useless.

Well, as his body reminded him, not _entirely_ useless. But now his headache was back in full force and if it hadn't been for his aching stomach, he would have just went back to sleep.

When he made it back out to the main room, every last thought of the hat left him but his headache certainly didn't.

**1.**

He couldn't take the silence anymore. Ever since the CDC, no one seemed to want to talk; they were all wrapped up in their own minds, preoccupied with their mourning. Daryl was pretty sure that most of them weren't even mourning Jaqui; they were mourning the loss of hope that the damn building had represented.

It was pathetic that they were giving up that easy. The longer he was around the camp, the more pissed off he got and the closer he came to snapping, just hollering at all of them to pick up their fucking faces, stop moping and move on with it.

He had a feeling that would have gotten him compared to Merle, however, and he knew how well that had turned out for his brother.

The next time they stopped, making camp a little ways from the highway, Daryl had finally gotten the kid alone and asked if he'd wanted him to teach him how to shoot his bow. Even though it came out sounding like a really bad line in a skin flick, they were both aware that it was a serious offer. Although the kid didn't look as distraught as the rest of them, it was obvious that he was still worrying and the only way that Daryl could think of to change that was to teach the kid something useful, a skill that would actually give him hope for the future.

"You ever been skeet shooting?" They were standing in a small clearing just beyond the camp, still within shouting distance. The kid had fired off a few arrows and, to be honest, he wasn't a bad shot. That didn't mean that he was a _quick_ one, however, and that was the important part.

"What the hell is a skeet?" Taking his time to line up the shot, Glenn pulled the trigger and successfully impaled the old tin can Daryl had set up as a target.

"Christ, you city folk don't know anything." Glenn merely glared at him, handing the crossbow back over.

"Well maybe I'd know something if you told me." Daryl had to give the kid that one. He took a few seconds to plan out his response; to be honest, he wasn't entirely sure why he'd even brought up skeet shooting. It was just one of those thoughts that appeared in your head without rhyme or reason.

"It's just a game my Pa used to like," he said, collecting the arrow and putting it back in its holster. "You're basically shooting these clay things with a shotgun or somethin'." His Pa had absolutely loved that game, dragging Daryl out to a round at least once a month. It was nothing official, just a drunken gathering with some neighbours but Daryl could still picture the look on his old man's face when he'd nailed one of those damn clay discs.

Suddenly, that thought didn't seem so random.

"It went kind of like this." With one hand, Daryl reached out and snatched Glenn's hat, throwing it up into the air. With the other, he fired, sending an arrow straight through the damned thing.

He'd done it. He had _finally _done it. He knew that he shouldn't have felt so proud over something so plain stupid but the fact was, after days of being tormented by the goddamn thing, it was finally gone. And then his stomach had sunk slightly when he realized that Glenn was probably and rightfully pissed off at him. He'd grown rather fond about Glenn (if that hadn't been obvious by their night at CDC) and he realized that he'd probably just blown their... whatever it was that they had.

Glenn was laughing. In fact, when Daryl looked over at the kid, he was _howling,_ bent in double, clutching his ribs like he'd just seen the funniest goddamn thing in the world. To be honest, it was more than a little disconcerting and Daryl couldn't help but feel like he was witnessing a mental breakdown. It was far-fetched but maybe he had just destroyed the kid's only tie to the time before, plunging him into complete insanity. After a few moments, the kid started speaking but it took Daryl a second to realize that he was making words, not just wheezes, with his mouth.

"Took you long enough!"

"_What?_" Tears were leaking out of the kid's eyes and he wiped them off, finally straightening up. Daryl had absolutely no idea what was going on and it was rather annoying, if he had to say so himself.

"Daryl, subtlety is not your strength," he said, finally speaking coherently. "You're quite awful at it, to be honest. I've been waiting _days_ for you to do that."

Well, didn't he just feel like a complete jackass then? All this time, he had been scheming and plotting, for absolutely nothing. There was no way around it, he felt like a total idiot.

"Well, I'm sure we can get you a new one somewhere," he muttered, feeling his cheeks unfortunately flush as he pulled the arrow out of what remained of the hat. Glenn groaned and, laying his hand on Daryl's shoulder, turned him around with a surprising amount of force.

"Daryl, _stop worrying about the goddamn hat." _

The instant Glenn kissed him, Daryl did what he was told.

**Author's Note:** R&R would be lovely. xo.


End file.
